


Annom Alley

by Straight_Outta_Hobbiton



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artist!Dennis, Business Tycoon!Harry, Gen, Muggle Culture, Muggle Technology, Patron of the Arts!Harry, Post-War, artist!luna
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-10-17 10:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10592043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton/pseuds/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton
Summary: The war has been over for half a decade, and for the most part? Everything's gone back to how it was when Harry was young.He finds it all incredibly boring.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An idea that's been floating in my head for a while. There's not much in the way of Magical entertainment, after all, and I want to fix that.

The Quibbler is the most trusted magazine in Wizarding Britain— and with good reason. There’s no one else willing to write what they believe.

 

The magazine comes every Sunday morning to Grimmauld place, as per Harry’s request. Due to increased circulation, Xeno’s moved from a monthly publication to a weekly one, and possibly to a daily. The fanbase is there, and thanks to a larger, more varied staff, less than half of the magazine is bullshit, now, beating the Prophet’s total bullshit with nearly two-thirds worth of accurate, honest news stories.

 

It’s on sunny Sunday morning in early March when Harry catches the story on shrinking Magical communities. Luna Lovegood, freelance reporter, writes:

  
  


_ Diagon Alley once was only one strip of a complex and vibrant network of Magical streets throughout the London metropolitan area. Knockturn Alley, a small side street located between Gradwick’s Gardening Tools and the Priscilla’s Portkey Makers, is one of only two remaining offshoots of what was a diverse magical borough, hidden between the bustling streets of Muggle London. One of two, the reader might think to themselves. Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley are the only two Wizarding streets in London! _

 

_ This is not true. _

 

_ Through hard work and hours spent combing through ancient maps in the bowels of the Ministry, this reporter has discovered a troubling fact: the Magical world as we know it has shrunk. Well, surely someone would have noticed if we’ve truly shrunk, the reader then says. No! says this reporter. Here’s why: _

 

_ In an effort to remain inconspicuous in the heart of Muggle London, the streets of Magical London are spelled in such a way that they feed off of the excess Magical energy that all Magicals possess, reinforcing the warding of the surrounding areas. Less regularly populated areas receive less access to this excess, causing the wards to weaken and eventually fade, leaving what was once a Magical street in the hands and curious memories of Muggle Londoners everywhere. A curious side effect of the annexing of these less populated streets from Magical London is an apparent loss of memory about anything concerning these former Magical streets, hypothesized to be a previously unresearched backlash to the Obliviate that is woven into most large-scale Muggle repellant charms. We are seeing its effects right now, in the case of Annom Alley. _

 

_ Does the name not ring a bell? Likely not. The street has been abandoned by Magicals for nearly thirty years. _

 

_ Annom Alley is located between Quality Quidditch Supplies and the Arnack Apothecary, not forty feet from the Leaky Cauldron. It has long since gone unnoticed, most of its shops closed down in the mid-seventies in wake of the first Wizarding War. After the Fall of Lord Voldemort, the street remained empty, and, in time, began to fade. _

 

_ However, there is still hope. The Annom Alley is still accessible from Diagon Alley, though it has fallen into disrepair. With the help of the rest of the Magical community, I would like to save this street from fading completely from our world. The reopening of shops, pubs, and community centers would revitalize this important piece of history, returning it to its rightful place as a fully-functioning part of Wizarding London. Please, do not allow another Wizarding street to fade into obscurity. _

  
  


Harry finds himself curious. The concept of an unused Wizarding street is strange to him, especially considering the many uses just a bit of extra space in the community could have. He wants to know more about Annom Alley.

 

He thinks it’s about time he has Luna over for tea.

  
  


*.*

  
  


"I read your article," he tells her once she’s settled in and said hello to Kreacher. "About Annom Alley. It was really good."

 

"Thank you, Harry," she says, smiling in her dreamy way. "It’s a shame most probably won’t take up the cause. Wizards, I find, aren’t too interested in enterprise."

 

"I’m interested," he says. "An extra street sounds like a fantastic idea. A project like that could remind people that things are getting better."

 

"A rejuvenation of the Magical spirit, yes, I thought so, too," Luna agrees. "Unfortunately, all most people just want peace, nowadays. Annom Alley is worse off than Knockturn, now."

 

"Have you been?"

 

"Of course— I took Dennis along with me, for the adventure."

 

Harry’s heart constricts.

 

"How’s he been? I know it’s probably been hard…"

 

Luna hums.

 

"Better, I think," she says. "Not quite up to his old cheeriness, but that’s probably not the goal we should be aiming for, anyway. He’s taken up painting with me. He’s not much good, but I think he appreciates something to do."

 

For some unknown reason, Luna had taken little Dennis Creevey under her wing after the death of his older brother. He’s been living with the Lovegoods ever since.

 

"Well, that’s good," he says. "You and your father are good people, taking care of Dennis after everything."

 

She shrugs.

 

"He needed the help," she says, like it was that simple. "His parents— they don’t understand. They can’t. All they know is their son is dead, and Dennis… Dennis can’t explain like he think he ought. It’s hard on him."

 

"Has he… has he seen his parents since?"

 

Luna shakes her head.

 

"We boxed up all of Colin’s Magical photos and brought them to my Dad’s," she says. "He hasn’t been home since. I’ve tried to keep his parents informed as best I can about his situation. His mum seems to appreciate it."

 

"Good." Harry nods, uncertain of what to say. "That’s good, Luna."

 

She smiles.

 

"He seemed to like Annom Alley," she says. "Seems to think it might become an entertainment district, or something. He talked about this Muggle thing… Sin-eemas?"

 

"Er… the cinema, maybe?"

 

"That’s it. He said they played films, whatever those are. They seemed fascinating."

 

"You’ve never seen a movie?"

 

"No. Is it nice?"

 

"I wouldn’t know," Harry admits. "I’ve never been either. Dudley seemed to like going, though— he always managed to get my aunt and uncle to take him when they had a free day."

 

"Maybe we should go," Luna muses. "I’ve always been curious about Muggle entertainment. They have to get creative, without magic."

 

"Want to? Right now?"

 

"Could we?"

 

"Yeah— I mean, we’d have to find a theater first, and check the times. I don’t know what’s playing nowadays, but— yeah, we could go."

 

Luna smiles, setting down her teacup.

  
"An adventure with Mr. Potter," she says. "I’m sure it’ll be exciting."


	2. Chapter 2

"Muggles are so  _ creative. _ " Luna is breathless with excitement as they exit the theater, silvery eyes wide and bright. "The very idea that machines have cast an illusion upon the entire human race— how  _ strange." _

 

"It certainly wasn’t what I was expecting," Harry agrees. "I didn’t realize computers had advanced enough that people are worried they might kill us one day."

 

"Everything was so vibrant, and the characters were all so cool—" Luna stops, on hand fisted around the sleeve of Harry’s coat. "Can we see it again?"

 

Harry laughs.

 

"Not today, I think. It’s a bit late. But yeah, we can go again. There’s other movies out."

 

"Others? How many?"

 

"I dunno— lots." Harry shrugs. "Muggles have been making movies since the twenties or something. You can buy them and play them on a television set in your house, if you want."

 

"Really?" Luna seems thrilled. "I might look into buying a television set myself, then— though Merlin knows what might happen if Daddy gets ahold of it. It’s an electronic, isn’t it?"

 

"The telly? Yeah. But who knows. Maybe I can get the twi— George, to look at it. He’s been tinkering with Muggle stuff in his shop, nowadays."

 

Luna doesn’t seem to notice the slip-up, or at least ignores it. Harry still makes the mistake sometimes— everybody does. That doesn’t make the situation any better.

 

"When I was little, my Mum took me to an art gallery," Luna says. "Wizards don’t really have much in the way of art, and I’d wanted to be a painter. It was odd, being around all those Muggles, but the work we saw…" she sighs wistfully. "I hoped I’d be a Squib when Mummy told me that Wizards didn’t paint like that. I was willing to give up my magic for it."

 

"Maybe if Annom Alley gets rebuilt, they’ll put in a gallery," Harry offers. "And you can show off your portraits of me and Ron and everybody, and they’ll go for thousands of Galleons."

 

"I’d never sell those." Luna pauses. "You’ve seen my portraits?"

 

Harry blinks.

 

"When we went to see your Dad," he explains. "And we realized you were missing."

 

Luna’s eyes widen slightly in realization.

 

"Ah," she says simply.

 

"They were really good," he offers awkwardly. "I thought… they were really cool."

 

"Thank you, Harry. It means a lot." She shifts slightly, pulling away to examine an empty patch of air beside a post box. "Do you want to see Annom Alley? I could take you, if you like."

 

"Now?"

 

"Well, why not?"

 

It’s well past eleven o’clock, that’s why, but then, when has that deterred Harry from making impulsive decisions? This isn’t nearly as dangerous as the time with Fluffy.

 

"Alright," he says.

 

"Hold on, there’s an alley right here." She pulls him behind a dumpster and gets a better grip on his arm. With a smile and a flick of her wand, they disappear from Muggle London.

  
  


*.*

  
  


It takes a moment for Harry to realize he recognizes their destination.

 

"Diagon?"

 

"Without the Magic attaching Annom Alley to Diagon properly, it’s neither here nor there," Luna explains. "A dodgy apparition point, all told, so I thought it better to walk. It’s just this way."

 

Harry nods, ignoring the shiver that runs up his spine. Diagon Alley is dark and empty at night, the street as cold and unwelcoming as it was under Voldemort’s regime.

 

"Everything closes at eight on Diagon— besides the Leaky Cauldron, anyway," she says, as if sensing his uneasiness. "It’s always been that way. Knockturn has a few pubs open, but that’s more for the vampires and things than Wizards. Turn here."

 

Harry jerks as the side street is revealed to him, completely unnoticeable until it was pointed out. Other than a small, dingy sign reading "Annom Alley" nailed to the brick, there’s no indication that the street is anything more than gap between buildings.

 

A slim hands finds his.

 

"Come on."

 

Luna pulls him into the dark easily, flicking her wand as she goes. A series of flames burst from her wand, whizzing out and settling into the gaslights lining the walkways. A moment later, the street is awash with a gentle, warm light.

 

Harry takes a moment to appreciate what it reveals.

 

The buildings are all terribly damaged, some from what clearly was a series of destructive spells, some from simple age. Many of the shop fronts are gone completely, haphazardly boarded up before ultimately being left to the elements. Piles of rubble litter the street, green things poking up between the stones.

 

"Looks like the aftermath of an air raid," Harry says. "Nobody thought to try and clean it up?"

 

Luna shakes her head sadly.

 

"There were too many attacks," she explains. "This was a predominately Muggleborn area, you know, and an easy target for Death Eaters. There was another street— Pyorittanick Alley— that was all Pureblood families, according to Ministry records. Wizards and Witches used to keep together. After the First War, with so many dead, the rest scattered. One Muggleborn house in a Muggle community is a lot smaller of a target then all of them in one place, after all, and we’d already lost so many of them…" Luna trails off, pointing to a half-demolished building on the right.

 

"Dennis said that could be a cinema," she says. "What with the size. I think it used to be an apartment complex."

 

"I could see it," Harry agrees. "It could fit a decent-sized theater— two, if it was Expanded a bit."

 

"Wouldn’t it be lovely? The place next to it could be a shop that sells the films after, and the shop next to that could sell telly-sets."

 

"Yeah." Harry grins. "Right there on the corner could be your art gallery, see?"

 

"With a studio on top so Dennis and I could work."

 

"People’d probably want to model for you, if you did that."

 

"Oh, I wish I could have live models— I never get the details right when I paint from memory."

 

"You did alright with us," Harry points out. "Oh! We could put a nightclub right over there, give younger Magicals something to do on a Friday night."

 

"A music hall would do good, too," Luna muses. "The Weird Sisters would finally have somewhere to play without having to get warding permits."

 

"We could put it right there, up the street," he agrees. "Maybe put an opera house or something a little ways further up— the Purebloods would complain if there wasn’t somewhere classy to go."

 

"You’d have to get someone to write the operas first," she says. "Wizards don’t write much of that sort of thing anymore. There’s not many plays, either."

 

"Then we’ll put a theater just for plays up too, and put on Shakespeare until someone writes something good," Harry says. "Somebody’ll think to, eventually.”

 

"Just think of it," Luna murmurs, eyes shining. "A whole district dedicated to arts and music. A bunch of people, all creating beautiful things…"

 

"Sounds perfect," Harry says. "We could use a little more beauty in the world, I think.”

 

“You’re not wrong.” She sighs. “It’s a nice dream.”

  
“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They went to see Matrix Reloaded, is anyone's curious.


	3. Chapter 3

“Dennis, you look good.”

 

“Thanks, Harry. How’ve you been?”

 

Dennis Creevey’s still a slight little thing, for all that he’s gotten taller. He’s grown out his hair; it hangs past his shoulders, pulled back into a French braid that is likely Luna’s work. He’s dressed in Muggle jeans and a blue plaid fleece, which clashes horribly with the Gryffindor scarf looped around his neck. In his hands is… a camera.

 

Dennis catches Harry looking at it.

 

“I thought it might be good to get some photos,” he says awkwardly. “Before everything gets fixed up. Sort of like a before-and-after, you know? A comparison.”

 

“Good idea,” Harry agrees, shoving down the sudden likeness he has to his brother. “Maybe if we do a really good job of it, the Ministry will award us medals or something.”

 

“I could always do with another one,” Luna agrees, humor coloring her tone. “Three is a nice, odd number.”

 

Dennis rolls his eyes, but he smiles, so that’s something.

 

“Where are we starting?” he asks.

 

“Well, first we’ve got to clear up the streets, I think,” Harry says. “Then we can start worrying about the buildings themselves.”

 

“Save the plants you don’t recognize,” Luna says. “Neville’s working on his Herbology Mastery— if we find something undiscovered he might not tear  _ all _ of his hair out over his dissertation.”

 

“He’s been going mad,” Harry agrees. “Alright. Let’s get to it, then.”

  
  


*.*

 

It’s hard work, but most of the street is cleared by lunch, leaving the three feeling quite deserving of a nice meal at one of the cafes on Diagon.

 

“The shops should all be centered around the entrances, I think,” Harry says, tapping the map spread across their table with his wand. A box appears in blue ink, marking the section he’s talking about. “We can always add more later, of course, but we don’t really have an idea of what sort of things would be sold on a street like this, so it makes sense to keep it to… let’s say ten storefronts for now?”

 

“Make it twelve, to be safe,” Luna says, leaning over her curry to adjust the box. “Or maybe fourteen. Restaurants will want to take some of the space— actually, we’ll probably have to make sure there’s space throughout. People get hungry at the oddest times, after all.”

 

“The movie theater’s going to take time,” Dennis remarks. “Until we can figure out how to make sure the camera itself can work in a Magical building, we probably ought to put that at the end. If we put the main music hall there, we can put a big theater for plays, and a few smaller ones, maybe? We’ll probably need smaller musical venues, too. Not everyone’s as popular as Celestina Warbeck.”

 

“Good point,” Harry agrees. “So, the main music hall here—” he jabs at the map, a red box appearing around one of the larger properties. “A few smaller ones here, here, and here—” red boxes circle the smaller venues. “And then the main theater—” a green box forms across from the music hall. “And the minor theaters, let’s call them—” more green boxes bloom in between the others. “We’ll set the cinema a little bit further back until it’s finished, we’ll put that in purple… Luna’s art gallery goes here, in silver… and this is mine.” With a final tap, a black square closes around a small property between the cinema and a smaller theater. “The rest is up for grabs for restaurants and things— we’ll mark those in blue, as well, I think.”

 

“What do you want the black spot for?” Dennis asks, cocking his head curiously.

 

“Dunno yet,” Harry admits. “But I want to save the space, just in case.”

 

“It’s a good set up,” Luna says after a moment, but that still leaves a whole third of the street unoccupied.”

 

“Well,” Harry starts. “I figure that some of it’ll go to industry. Costumes and sets and things, for the theaters. If we start making Wizarding films, they’ll likely need studios as well, to film and whatnot… better to leave a bit of space, you know?”

 

“And what do we have here?” Someone behind Harry says. “Causing trouble again, Mr. Potter?”

 

Harry looks up to find a familiar redhead looking down at him.

 

“George, how are you?” he says, grinning.

 

“I’m doing alright, and you?”

 

“Just fine.” The liar.

 

“We were discussing our plans for Annom Alley,” Luna tells him as he takes the empty seat beside her.

 

“Yeah, I read about that. Somebody was interested?”

 

“Harry bought all the available properties,” Dennis says, gesturing to the map. “We’re making an arts district, what do you think?”

 

George looks over the map, lip quirked oddly as he looks it over.

 

“Really?” he asks. “This seems a bit… big.”

 

“Of course it is,” Luna says. “Harry’s involved.”

 

George’s face splits into a grin.

 

“Good point,” he says. “It’ll certainly be different, I’ll tell you that much. A cinema? Never heard of it.”

 

“It’s a Muggle thing,” Harry explains. “We think it might work, if we give it enough time. First, though, we need to figure out how to make sure none of the Muggle technology explodes with so much magic around.”

 

“We think we’ll start with plays, first,” Luna says. “To get people used to the idea of performance arts. Outside of Quidditch, Wizards don’t really know what it is.”

 

“Not many Magical playwrights, to be honest,” George agrees. “This is completely mad… how can I help?”

  
  


*.*

  
  


Luna’s long since gone to bed, but Dennis and Harry are still awake, puttering around Dennis’ cluttered room as they talk semantics.

 

“With George working on the camera for the movie theater, I reckon it’ll take… no more than a year,” Harry muses. “With that in mind, what sort of stuff can we show that’ll make sense to Magicals?”

 

“We’d probably need a tester audience,” Dennis muses. “A mix of people who understand the Muggle world and who don’t. It’s not like we’ll have any Wizarding films at first, after all, so we’ll be playing Muggle things until somebody writes something.”

 

“There’s an idea. Maybe we could have a movie night with the DA.”

 

“That’d be good.” Dennis sighs, sipping his Butterbeer. “You know, for plays and movies and things, there’ll have to be actors. And costume designers. And set designers. And directors. Even without writing anything ourselves, there’s going to be a lot of work. We’ll need manpower.”

 

Harry hums.

 

“We’ll put out ads in the Quibbler and the Daily Prophet,” he says after a moment. “That’s probably our best bet. We could maybe write up a contract with Madam Malkin’s or something for costumes… directors and things might be more difficult.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

The conversation lulls for a moment, and then,

 

“George looked alright, didn’t he?”

 

Harry pauses.

 

“Yeah,” he agrees slowly. “He’s been doing better now that Ron’s been helping him.”

 

“He’s not ever going to be the same, though. Not like before Fred died.”

 

Harry sighs.

 

“No,” he says. “He’s not. Losing people is… hard. Life-changing. Believe me, I know. But… we have to keep going, somehow. We have to find a way to remember them without standing still.”

 

“How’d you do it? When Bla— when your godfather died?”

 

“I threw myself into a war,” Harry says wryly. “I don’t recommend it. George has been keeping side projects. Ron’s been working with George. Andi— Tonks’ mum— has a baby to take care of. We all found something else to think about— at least until it doesn’t hurt so much.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Dennis doesn’t say anything after that. Harry takes that as his cue to leave.


	4. Chapter 4

“Harry, I don’t know if you realize, but this is supposed to be a neutral space,” Luna remarks when he finishes the theater. “House colors probably aren’t the way to go on this one.”

 

“Sorry,” he says, sheepish. “I just thought it would look nice.”

 

“You’re not wrong, but we should take into account that we want all sorts of Wizards to come here— not just Gryffindors and the DA.”

 

“Well, what would you suggest?”

 

Luna plucks her wand from behind her ear and gives it a wave.

 

Harry had chosen yellow marble for the floors and staircases, with rich reds for the carpets and curtains. Luna turns the marble white with a flick, forming white marble statues to guard the entrances, exits, and staircases with another. The curtains and carpet she changes to a deep, dark purple, adding silver tassels to the curtains and lining the newly made statues with silver and gold. She changes the shape of the ceiling with a few sharp jabs, creating a dome above their heads before lining it with silver.

 

When she’s finished, she turns to Harry and arches an eyebrow.

 

He huffs in mock annoyance.

 

“Fine, you win. I hate decorating, anyway.”

 

“Thank you,” she says primly. “Have we decided on our first play yet?”

 

“I was thinking  _ Romeo and Juliet _ ,” he says. “There’s a lesson to be had, in that one, and it’s pretty popular, in the Muggle world.”

 

“I find it sad,” Luna admits. “But I suppose I agree. Star-crossed lovers and romances doomed to tragedy are always popular. Now, with the atrium finished, I’d quite like to see how much Gryffindor you’ve unleashed upon the auditorium.”

 

“A lot,” Harry says.

 

“Ah. I thought so.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


“What are we going to do for a director?” Dennis asks over dinner that evening. “And stage hands and things? A theater’s more than just actors and scripts, you know.”

 

“I know,” Harry says. “George told me Lee Jordan— you remember him? — has had some experience with plays and how they’re run. He’ll be meeting me tomorrow to discuss logistics.”

 

“He used to hang out with the twins, if I remember,” Luna says. “Is he an inventor too?”

 

“More of a barker,” Harry says. “He’s good at drumming up a crowd when the need calls for it.”

 

“Somebody we’d want helping us,” she remarks, approving. “I know there are a few Hufflepuff graduates still looking for Magical work— perhaps something like this would be to their taste.”

 

“That would be good.” Harry grins. “That would be very good.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


“Romeo and Juliet is a bit boring, but I’ve done it before,” Lee muses. “Costuming won’t be that hard— in a pinch, we can just set it up as a modern take and have everyone in robes, though I would prefer some sort of…” he trails off. “Do you want the short of it?”

 

“That would work.”

 

“Get me a list of people who might be willing to try their hand at performance arts, and I’ll start on that,” he says. “Get me people willing to work, and I’ll put them to work, too. We can figure it out— we just need to know where to look.”

 

“Where do we look?” Harry asks.

 

Lee shrugs.

 

“Put out ads in the paper,” he says. “Put up flyers. We’ll find someone.”

 

“Yeah, we talked about that… do you think it’ll work?”

 

Lee shrugs.

 

“A lot of Muggleborns and Halfbloods find their way back to Muggle interests, eventually,” he says. “Purebloods made it hard to find work in Magical Britain, and then with the war... “ he trails off, shrugging. “It was safer and easier to retreat into Muggle London. I’ll tell you right now, though— it’s gonna be a young crowd.”

 

“That’s fine,” Harry says. “As long as we’ve got a crowd.”

 

Lee grins.

 

“That, at least, I can guarantee,” he says. “I’ll write up flyers and things, get in contact with a few old friends. Have you—” Lee pauses, clearing his throat. “Have you spoken to George recently?”

 

Harry smiles kindly.

 

“Yeah— he’s working on a camera for a possible movie theater for us.”

 

“Is he?” Lee’s smile looks a little pained. “That’s— that’s good.”

 

“Yeah.” Harry pauses. “You know, I don’t think he’d mind if you went ‘round sometime. He’d probably enjoy seeing you.”

 

“I know, I just…”  Lee sighs. “Maybe sometime. But not yet.”

 

“I understand,” Harry says. “So, do I have a director?”

 

Lee grins, relieved at the change of subject.

 

“You have a director.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


“Luna, didn’t you tell me to be mindful of neutral colors?”

 

Luna grins, unrepentant.

 

“If I remember correctly, you gave me my gallery,” she says serenely. “It stands to reason I’ll decorate it as I please— and anyway, blue and brown are neutral colors, if properly applied. Red and gold can be garish if you don’t know what you’re doing, and you, Harry, have no idea what you’re doing.”

 

Harry rolls his eyes.

 

“Are you all moved in?” he asks.

 

“Oh, yes— Dennis is unpacking his room now— he’s turned the basement into a dark room, you know. It’s quite a fascinating process to watch; I didn’t know he took photographs, really.”

 

Her tone sombers as she speaks, and Harry knows what she’s thinking of. Who she’s thinking of.

 

“On the subject of fascinating processes,” he says, changing the subject. “Have you gotten any replies to the wanted ads?”

 

“Oh, dozens. Lee will have his work cut out for him, by the looks of it.”

 

“That’s good,” Harry says. Better too many than too few.

 

“I believe I agree with you.” Luna presses herself into his side, gazing at the empty space with something close to love.

 

“I can never thank you enough for this,” she says for the hundredth time.

 

He sighs, hand looping around her waist.

 

“Just make something beautiful,” he says. “Do you promise?”

 

“I’ll do my best,” she says.

 

They stay like that for a minute longer before Luna breaks the silence.

 

“Take me to the cinema,” she says. “I want to see a movie.”

 

Harry laughs.

  
“Your wish is my command,” he says. “Let’s go see if Dennis wants to come.”


	5. Chapter 5

_ “Finding Nemo  _ was meant for children?”

 

“Well, it was a cartoon, so yeah.” Harry pauses. “Why?”

 

Luna frowns.

 

“It had a very serious premise, is all,” she says. “To talk of… imprisonment, and loneliness, and widower fathers… it’s not frowned upon?”

 

“Muggles don’t look at it that way, I guess,” Harry says, shrugging. “I mean, those things happened, I guess, but it also talked about familial bonds and friendship and loyalty. It’s a very Hufflepuff film, if you think about it.”

 

“I liked it,” Dennis pipes up. “I thought it was cute.”

 

“Well, I suppose if you think of it that way, it isn’t so frightening,” Luna muses. “The concept of talking fish is quite sweet… though it does make me wonder what Merfolk might think of such a film.”

 

Harry tries to picture it. The thought makes him laugh.

 

“Maybe one day we can play it for them,” he says. “And ask for opinions.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


“Lee sent me an owl this morning,” Harry says over lunch in Luna’s new flat. “Auditions went well— better than he expected, anyway. He sent along a cast list.”

 

“Oh?” Luna peers at him curiously. “And who play our star-cross’d lovers, if I may ask?”

 

Harry grins over the table at her.

 

“Dean Thomas and Daphne Greengrass,” he says.

 

“The Slytherin girl?” Dennis says through a mouthful of waffle. “Well, damn.”

 

“Talk about two houses,” Luna agrees. “Who’s playing Mercutio? He was always my favorite.”

 

“Dorian Zabini— he graduated a few years before us,” Harry says. “He was a Ravenclaw, I think.”

 

Luna nods.

 

“I remember him,” she says. “His mother’s fourth or fifth husband was a Muggle— he used to take them to ballets and things. He used to talk about it sometimes.”

 

“Can we go to a reading?” Dennis asks. “It’d be fun to watch.”

 

“Lee says we aren’t to come near the theater until they’ve memorized their lines,” Harry says. “He says it’ll ruin their concentration, or something.”

 

Dennis frowns.

 

“You haven’t accidentally hired a diva, Harry?” he says. “That sounds awfully… Kubrick-like.”

 

“I have no idea what that means,” Harry informs him. “Anyway, what’s on the itinerary today?”

 

“Well,” Luna says. “I thought we might begin working on the front shops. If we get a few of those going, we can start bringing the street properly to life again— not to mention we could start building up some publicity for the playhouse.”

 

“Sounds like a lot of heavy-lifting.”

 

Luna smiles.

 

“Why do you think I waited for you to come ‘round?”

  
  


*.*

  
  


“What do you plan to do with this place, Harry?”

 

Harry sighs.

 

“I dunno,” he says. “I just… wanted something of my own, you know? Some place… some place for our people. My people.”

 

Luna hums.

 

“I think a salon would suit quite well,” she says. “Perhaps with a backroom? For more intimate occasions, I mean.”

 

“A game of Exploding Snap over a nice vintage Firewhisky?” Harry chuckles. “Yeah, maybe something like that.”

 

“You’d have to make it exclusive, I think,” Dennis remarks from his other side. “I mean, considering you’re famous and all. With someone at the door to keep looky-lous out.”

 

“... That doesn’t sit well with me,” Harry says. “I mean, I just want to be normal.”

 

“Harry, you’ve bought up an entire street with the intent of turning it into an entertainment district for Magical London,” Luna says. “Even if you hadn’t killed the Dark Lord, it’d be cause for curiosity. That sort of money always attracts flies.”

 

“Especially when somebody’s spending that kind of money,” Dennis adds. “My mum’s brother’s like that— he’s a solicitor, on wife number four, I think? Possibly five. I’ve stopped bothering with their names.”

 

“Is he killing them?” Luna asks, looking concerned.

 

“No, nothing like that— he just swaps them out for newer models.”

 

“Divorce, Luna,” Harry explains. “Muggles do it a lot.”

 

“Really?” Luna frowns. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who was divorced. It’s incredibly rare, you know. Very serious.”

 

“Well, I suppose that explains why their are so many widows.” Harry smiles. “Dinner at my place? I’m thinking I might be in the mood to cook.”

 

“That sounds lovely, Harry.”

 

“I’m in.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


Harry wakes up squashed and he doesn’t know why. Frowning, he opens his eyes and finds two heads of hair— one blonde, one curly.

 

Oh, well. Seems like Luna and Dennis spent the night.

 

It’s difficult to free himself without waking them, but he manages, scooting himself carefully onto the floor before pushing himself to his feet.

 

His shirt smells like beer. Crinkling his nose, he puts the kettle on with a wave of his hand and slips upstairs for a shower.

 

By the time he’s acceptably clean, the house smells like bacon and toast.

 

“Dennis?”

 

The younger man glances over his shoulder and shoots Harry an awkward smile.

 

“Good morning,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind— my mouth tastes like something died in it, and since it’s not like I carry a toothbrush around…”

 

Harry waves a dismissive hand.

 

“No, no, it’s fine— so long as some of it’s for me,” he adds, grinning. “Luna awake yet?”

 

“I am,” she says from the doorway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Breakfast?”

 

“Almost done,” Dennis promises. “There’s tea.”

 

“Lovely.” Carefully, Luna pours herself a cup and settles into a chair. Harry follows suit, taking his usual place by the door.

 

“Anybody remember what we did last night?”

 

“We played Exploding Snap,” Dennis says. “And we drank. And talked about what to do with your spot.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“We’re not very interesting people,” Luna remarks.

 

“Sure we are.” Harry leans back, smiling at Dennis when he sets down a plate. “We’re just retired.”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Dennis says. “I’ve still got to do something before I retire.”

 

Harry rolls his eyes.

 

“Well, if you think about it _ that  _ way…” He trails off. “Honestly, Dennis, I think you’re alright. Your one of the founders of the Magical entertainment district, after all.”

 

“Er, no, Harry, that’s you.”

 

“Yeah? As far as I can tell, I’m just backing most of it.” Harry shrugs. “You and Luna are putting in just as much physical labor as I am. And once Luna gets her gallery going, who knows? Maybe you’ll find something for yourself.”

 

“I’ll happily hang up anything you might create, Dennis,” Luna promises. “People deserve to see your work.”

 

Dennis shakes his head.

 

“No,” he says. “I appreciate the offer, but no. I’m not an artist, really.”

 

Luna exchanges a sorrowful look with Harry.

 

“Well,” she says, reaching out to clasp the younger boy’s hand. “The offer’s always open, if you change your mind.”

 

Dennis quirks a smile at her but doesn’t answer.

  
That’s just fine.


	6. Chapter 6

 

“This is…” Hermione struggles for the right word. “Big? Big.”

 

“I know.” Harry shrugs. “But, you know, it’s me.”

 

“I suppose.” Hermione looks around. “You can see the entrance from Diagon, now. Did you know?”

 

“Can you? That’s fantastic,” he says. “I was worried we might have to start leading people here before we could properly open— for a while you could only get here if you already knew where it was.”

 

“That’s really interesting, actually. Diagon’s magic is quite old, though— old magic is always odd like that.” She glances at Harry. “Have you got a solid plan, or is it all sort of…” she trails off.

 

“I’ve got an outline,” Harry admits.

 

“Well, I suppose that’s an improvement,” Hermione says. “Walk me through it?”

 

So he does. He shows her where he wants the restaurants, the theaters, the clubs, the bars. He tells her about Lee’s production of Romeo and Juliet and tours her through Luna’s gallery. He talks about George’s work on the movie camera, and their plans to build a cinema proper, where they can play Muggle and— hopefully one day— Magical movies.

 

He watches Hermione’s face turn from disbelief to incredulity to thoughtfulness to… to something. He doesn’t think he’s seen that look on her face before.

 

“You know,” she says when they eventually wander into Diagon for an early dinner. “This could be really good fo Magical Britain, honestly.”

 

“How do you figure?”

 

“All of that… art, I suppose,” she says, shrugging. “I mean, it’s all about creation, isn’t it? You’re hoping to inspire other people to contribute, to get involved. Aren’t you?”

 

Harry shrugs.

 

“I mean… yeah, eventually,” he says. “We can’t keep stealing from the Muggles, after all.”

 

Hermione nods.

 

“I think this is a good thing,” she says again. “I think it sends a strong message— this new district, it’s a sign of new beginnings, of progress. That’s pretty revolutionary, don’t you think?”

 

“Er… yeah,” he says. “I suppose, if you think about it that way.”

 

“You don’t even have to. It’s enough that it’ll just be.” Hermione smiles. “Stuff like this makes people look towards the future. It lets them dream. After everything, that’s just what we need, don’t you think?”

 

“This wasn’t meant to be political.”

 

“And it doesn’t have to be,” she says. “But the nature of art is an answer. To what depends on the people, the place… but it is an answer, and now? It’s the right one.”

 

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that, so he drinks his Elvish wine in silence until another topic comes up between them.

 

Hermione’s right a lot of the time, he thinks to himself. So it’s likely she’s right about this as well.

 

The burden of Annom Alley has suddenly gotten a lot heavier.

  
  


*.*

  
  


Dennis is going through his brother’s boxes. There are a few full of personal things— clothes, and books, an old lightsaber here, a tattered teddy bear there— but most of them, nearly all of them, are full of photographs and undeveloped film.

 

(It should be said— he’s more than a little drunk right now, and Luna’s long since gone to bed.)

 

Colin had taken up photography to document a new and exciting world for his parents. There is a very clear shift, however, somewhere in his fourth year, when it becomes less about the magic— the classes, the homework, the ill-advised adventures that more often than not led to detentions from a stern-faced McGonagall— and more about… more about the world itself. The culture, the people, the politics. Most of his photos from fourth year are of the DA, after a while, from the infamous group photo to duels to Harry, just Harry, demonstrating this particular spell or talking about that specific countercurse.

 

Dennis wonders if his brother ever realized he had a crush on the older boy. He probably did, in the end, and even if he didn’t… looking at these photographs, it’s rather obvious.

 

Well, it’s not like it really matters now, does it.

 

Taking a swig from his Firewhisky bottle, Dennis pulls the next box closer, setting aside the lid and peering inside.

 

All it is is undeveloped film. Just— loads of it.

 

Frowning, he picks up a roll from the top of the pile, flipping it over to check the date that he knows will be scrawled across the plastic.

 

_ 09/98. _

 

Well, he thinks to himself, dropping the film back into the box. This is quite the dilemma. On the one hand, he really doesn’t want to see what’s on these rolls. On the other hand, he knows it would absolutely kill Colin to know some of his photos were never developed.

 

Dennis knows how to develop Magical film. There is also a basement.

 

“I’m going to regret this,” he mutters to himself, forcing himself to his feet. He hoists the box up on his hip and, after a moment’s deliberation, tucks the bottle under one arm before making his way down the steps.

 

He’s quite sure he’ll need the courage that Firewhiskey can afford him.

  
  


*.*

  
  


Luna doesn’t find him until early the next morning.

 

He probably looks half-mad, bathed in the reddish fairy light that’s bobbing gently over his head, his hands stained black with Developing Potion, All around him, carefully clothespinned to conjured string, are Colin’s last photographs, shiny and smelling slightly of orange juice.

 

His head hurts, and he’s been crying, but hopefully, he doesn’t look like he has. Not that it matters, really— Luna always seems to know when something’s wrong, even if she’s polite enough not to say anything.

 

As if to prove it, she stays quiet, drifting past him to look at the pictures that have begun to come to life, smiling and waving at her when she comes closer.

 

“He spelled his camera invisible,” she says. “Do you remember? And then he had it flying around, taking pictures of the school while we were holed up in the room.”

 

“He passed the film along to Aberforth,” Dennis says, nodding quietly. “He sent it all to our parents.”

 

Luna hums, pausing in front of a picture of herself.

 

“I remember this,” she says, carefully unpinning the picture to get a better look. “He started doing it not long after the Room opened up.”

 

Dennis looks over her shoulder. The photo is a simple one, a portrait. Luna, still shy of her sixteenth birthday, looks unusually grim, mouth thin and firm and chin level with the ground. Her silvery eyes are stern, one swollen black around the edges from a recent beating.

 

“He wanted us to show our strength,” she says. “He took photos of all of us, so everyone would know what we were fighting— and so we would have decent-looking Wanted posters, of course.”

 

Dennis snorts.

 

“Colin was bitter,” he says. “He was angry that the Wizarding World wasn’t the perfect world we’d thought it would be.”

 

“He wasn’t the only one,” Luna says softly. “But… I suppose that’s why we’re still here. To change it into something better.”

 

Dennis’ mouth pinches.

 

“I think,” he starts. “When you open the gallery, you should hang these up. I think it’s important.”

 

“I think you’re right,” she agrees, carefully replacing the photograph on the line. “You know what could make it better?”

 

“What?”

 

“If we had photos of the survivors,” she says. “So everyone who comes through the door can see.”

 

That is a nice thought, Dennis thinks. But Colin isn’t here anymore to take those photos, to charm those people into standing still for his camera.

 

“I think you’d do an excellent job, Dennis.” Luna’s gaze is soft, her voice gentle, like it’s perfectly normal to read someone’s mind. “I think you’re the perfect person to complete your brother’s work.”

 

And just like that, it’s decided, regardless of the sudden heaviness making itself at home in Dennis’ stomach or the sorrow that tightens his throat. Dennis has a job, now, something to fill the time that isn’t spent on remodeling or drinking or pretending everything’s alright.

  
Well, he better get to it.


	7. Chapter 7

Time passes, as it’s wont to do, and after three months, Harry gets a letter.

 

 

_ To Our Dearest Patron, _

 

_ I am pleased to announce that the troupe of The Theater of Stars is ready to provide an intimate showing of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet for you and any other guests of your choosing on the seventeenth of the month— _

 

_ Just kidding. Well, not about the being ready. We are ready, for whenever you want to come have a look, but the seventeenth is the best day. It’s a bit last minute, I know, but we really need to get started on costuming and things, which means I need to have you around. Plus, you know, the actors have been dying to find out who you are— I’ve been keeping your identity a secret, mostly because it drives them mad. _

 

_ What do you think of the name, by the way? It’s what we’ve been calling the place. It suits quite nicely, I think. _

 

_ Owl me with your answer ASAP. _

 

_ Cheers! _

_ Lee Jordan, Director _

 

 

Well, Harry thinks, pulling a fresh piece of parchment out of his desk and dipping his quill. He’s never been to the theater before. He wonders if Luna wouldn’t mind joining him.

 

She likes to dress up.

 

 

*.*

 

 

_ “A glooming peace this morning with it brings; _

_ The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: _

_ Go hence, to have more talk of these things; _

_ Some shall be pardon’d, and some punished: _

_ For never was a story of more woe _

_ Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.” _

 

Zacharias Smith bows his head, shoulders slumped sorrowfully, and holds the position until the fairy lights overhead dim and go out. He makes a good Prince, Harry thinks. He knows how to hold himself.

 

A moment later, the lights come back up. The cast has lined the stage and, in unison, take a deep bow.

 

Luna smiles at Harry from her place beside him, hidden by the shadows of the house. It’s a shame— she put her best foot forward when Harry told her they’d be dressing up for the occasion, greeting him at the door in a light green ensemble that wouldn’t look out of place in a Tolkien novel.

 

“So, what do you think then, Patron?” Lee calls out, turning around in his seat.

 

“It’s excellent,” Harry calls back.

 

“Fantastic!” Lee says. “Come on out, then.”

 

Harry gets to his feet and turns to offer Luna an arm, which she takes with all the grace of a lady.

 

The surprise on the cast’s faces is ridiculously satisfying when they finally have a look at him.

 

Dean’s the one to break first, moving to hug him.

 

“I should have figured it was you,” he says, pulling away with a laugh. “No one else would be mad enough to go ahead and buy a bloody  _ street.” _

 

“Who says I bought the whole street?” Harry asks, grinning.

 

“Lee, of course!” Dean jerks a thumb at the boy. “He wouldn’t say a word about who you are for months, just kept telling us all these plans you had for the place.”

 

“More of an outline, really,” Harry says, turning to face the rest of the group. “Er… hi. I’m Harry Potter, and this is Luna Lovegood. I do know some of you, but there are some new faces here, as well.”

 

“... I’m not sure why I’m surprised,” Parvati says after a moment. “I mean, a playhouse? In Magical Britain? There’s only one person with the money and the Muggle background to try such an utterly ludicrous venture.”

 

“Muggle background? You, Potter?” Zabini sounds curious, head tilted to one side in interest.

 

Harry finds himself… unbothered.

 

“I grew up with Muggles,” he says. “Not very nice ones, granted, but yes, I do technically have a Muggle background.”

 

Zabini glances at the man beside him, who nods thoughtfully and keeps quiet.

 

“Well.” Harry claps his hands together. “You all seem to be coming along quite well. What’s say you to a spot of dinner, then? I’m paying.”

 

There’s a wave of pleased mumbles of assent.

 

“I know a great place,” Dean says, smiling. “I’ve got an in with the head chef, actually.”

 

“Sounds great,” Harry says. “Where is it?”

 

 

*.*

 

 

The Golden Dragon is a prissy, Pureblood establishment, one that normally wouldn’t allow half of the Harry’s group through their doors without an invitation and fancy dress. Harry has the gold, though, and Dean knows the head chef— actually, they all know him.

 

“Harry! How are you?”

 

Seamus Finnegan has managed to get even taller than he was in school. His long hair is pulled back into a long braid, his smile crooked and bright and filled with gold.

 

“Implants,” he explains when he catches Harry looking, knocking a knuckle against a golden canine. “The Carrows knocked out more than a few of my pearly whites, you know, and I was making good enough money that I could afford it, so I did.”

 

“Oddly, it suits you,” Harry says with a grin of his own. “So, tell me— what’s your best dish?”

 

Seamus grins.

 

“Probably the steak,” he says after a moment. “It’s a favorite, certainly.”

 

Harry glances at Luna, who nods her assent, before turning back to Seamus.

 

“Two steaks for us, then,” he says. “And whatever else this lot’s having.”

 

“The usuals, then.” Seamus grins as Eloise Midgen raises her glass in agreement. “Alright, then, everything’ll be out in a bit. Enjoy yourselves, will you? It looks good on me when money’s spent.”

 

Harry snorts, raising his own glass of Elven wine.

 

“We’ll do our absolute best,” he promises.

 

 

*.*

 

 

“The problem with costume design is that Magical fashion is very narrow,” Lee says over his fourth glass of wine. “We need somebody with a Muggle background— or at least an interest in Muggle fashion.”

 

“Lavender’s been trying to get an apprenticeship at Madame Malkin’s,” Parvati pipes up. “She’s looking for work.”

 

“Is she any good, though?” Dorian Zabini asks, arching an eyebrow.

 

“Damn right she is,” Parvati says. “Madame Malkin doesn’t like her because of… well, you know. The werewolf thing.”

 

“I forgot about that,” Daphne remarks, sipping her wine delicately.

 

“If only Lavender was so lucky.” Parvati turns to Harry, eyes pleading. “She really is good, Harry, and she needs the work.”

 

“... Well, I don’t care whether she’s a werewolf or not,” he says. “Lee?”

 

“If she can do it, she can be a seven-headed dragon for all I care,” Lee says fervently. “Have her write me, I’d like to set up a meeting within the week, if possible. We really need to start on this stuff. Harry, do you want to be there?”

 

Harry waves a dismissive hand.

 

“Just let me see the final designs once you’ve picked something out,” he says. “Or Luna. She’s got taste.”

 

“Thank you, Harry.”

 

He grins at her, loose with drink and good food. “Anytime, love… good.”

 

She smiles indulgently at him, politely ignoring his slip-up before turning back to Lee.

 

“How goes the search for stagehands?” she asks.

 

“Honestly? Everett’s been handling it,” he says, gesturing at Avery. “He’s got quite a few connections.”

 

Everett shrugs awkwardly.

 

“I’m a friendly bloke,” he says. “And a lot of people have been having trouble finding jobs in the Magical World since the war. Skilled people, too.”

 

“So far we’ve got three,” Lee continues, turning back to Luna. “Which seems like it might be enough— you know, considering magic. I’ve added them to the books, but they haven’t started working yet.”

 

Harry blinks.

 

“Why not?” he asks.

 

Lee shrugs.

 

“Payroll,” he says simply. “You haven’t actually given me a budget, you know.”

 

“Oh. Shit.” Harry looks at the actors assembled around the table. “Have you been working for free?”

 

“So far,” Mandy Brocklehurst pipes up. “It hasn’t much mattered, as we’ve other jobs, but—”

 

“Getting paid would be nice,” Zacharias butts in.

 

“Yes, it would,” Harry agrees. “Right. Lee? Send me the cast list and how long everyone’s been working. I’ll sort it for you by the end of the week.”

 

“Cheers!” Dean holds up his beer. There’s a garbled sound of agreement from the rest of the table, and Harry laughs, leaning back in his chair as he holds up his glass.

 

A cold hand finds the back of his neck and cold lips meet his ear.

 

“So I’ll be helping you with the books tomorrow?” Luna murmurs.

 

He nods, chin dipping to touch his chest.

 

“You know me too well,” he says back, turning to meet her eyes.

 

He can feel her breath on his face, can see the flecks of blue in her otherwise silver eyes.

 

She smiles.

 

“Hello,” she says.

 

“Hi,” he says, mind going blank. She’s very, very close. The last person who was this close was… Ginny? It’s been a while.

 

“You two are adorable,” Eloise chirps, breaking the moment. Luna pulls back.

 

“Thank you, Eloise,” she says. “We do our best.”

 

Harry flushes, but that just might be the drink. Luckily, before anyone can draw attention to it, their waiter returns.

 

“Another round,” Harry says without prompting.

 

The waiter gives him a tight-lipped smile and disappears back into the kitchen. Harry rolls his eyes and turns back to Lee.

 

“Looks like we’ve offended the snobs,” he says.

 

“Ah, it’s good for them,” Lee says, draining his glass. “So, you’ll do the books, I’ll hire the manpower, and we’ll start everything… let’s say Monday next week?”

 

“Sounds about right, yeah,” Harry agrees. “Luna, you’ll keep me on task, right?”

 

“Of course, Harry,” she says. It’s then he realizes her hand hasn’t left the back of his neck.

 

He is very drunk. They all are, really, but he’s only just realize.

 

“I think we’ll be needing the Knight Bus to get home,” he says. “All of us.”

 

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Luna says. “We can go back to mine. I’m sure Dennis won’t mind the company.”

 

“We’ll bring him a bottle to catch up,” Harry says. “‘S only fair.”

 

“Of course, Harry.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kaister asked, and here I answer (eventually)! So, here we go, next chapter of Annom Alley!

The flat above Luna’s gallery is white. White shag carpet, white walls, white furniture, white drapes. The couches— or rather, the dip in the floor that serves as a seating arrangement, complete with comfortable cushions and a coffee table— are white, as is the mantlepiece and every piece of odd sculpture that Luna has decided worthy of being placed there.

 

It is, quite frankly, a bit off-putting when one has been drinking. Luckily, the pristine, somewhat anachronistic nature of Luna’s place of residence is answered with awe from Lee’s actors.

 

“I’ve never seen a place like this,” Daphne whispers, toeing off her shoes carefully before stepping onto the carpet. “It’s _ beautiful.” _

 

“Do you think so?” Luna says, clearly pleased. “I took my cues from an old Muggle magazine I found. This sort of layout was the height of seventies fashion, apparently. I quite like it.”

 

“My Aunt Rose’s basement looks a bit like this,” Dean says. “It’s all orange and yellow, though.”

 

“I like it,” Dorian says, nodding sharply. “It suits you, Miss Lovegood.”

 

“Please, call me Luna,” she demurs. “I wonder where Dennis— ah, there you are, Denny.”

 

“You’ve brought company,” Dennis remarks, pausing to peer at them all. He seems… well, he seems a bit drunk, wrapped in a flowered silk robe that Harry is quite sure belongs to Luna. “Hello.”

 

“Sorry, Dennis,” Harry says, smiling sheepishly. “These are all of Lee’s actors from the theater— we’ve been making friends.”

 

“Oh.” Dennis arches an eyebrow. “I don’t recognize all of you. All Hogwarts alum, I’m assuming.”

 

“All older ‘n’ you, kid.” Everett eyes him carefully. “Should you even be drinking?”

 

“Don’t worry, Avery, he’s of age,” Seamus says. “You’re Colin Creevey’s little brother, right? The one that fell in the lake.”

 

Dennis stiffens.

 

“That’s right,” he says. “The Giant Squid helped me back into the boat.”

 

Seamus nods.

 

“He was a good kid, your brother,” he says. “He used to give me chocolate frogs.”

 

“Well,” Dennis says, arching an eyebrow. “You did give him a goblet of Transfigured Firewhisky for his fifteenth birthday.”

 

“I did, didn’t I?” Seamus sighs wistfully. “The only time I actually managed the spell, as well. Oh well— I’m legal to buy it now, anyway.”

 

“Why don’t we all have a seat?” Luna says, gesturing to the couches. “I’m sure Denny would love to hear about our theater plans.”

 

“I would,” Dennis agrees, dropping onto the couch. “I’d also like another drink. Have you anything?”

 

Harry holds up a bottle of Firewhisky.

 

“Shall we?”

  
  


*.*

  
  


“Seventy galleons a week per actor, one hundred for Lee, because he’s currently managing the entire venture,” Harry says. “What’s that bring us to?”

 

“Seven hundred and thirty galleons a week,” Luna says, looking up from his account book. “If we add the three stagehands Lee has lined up at fifty galleons a week, then it comes to eight hundred and eighty.”

 

“Parvati sent a letter this morning,” Harry adds. “Lavender and a friend are willing to take part.”

 

“Then that’ll be another hundred,” Luna says, nodding. “So nine hundred and eighty galleons. You’re a generous man, Harry.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

Luna shrugs.

 

“Twenty galleons a week is a lot unless you’re high up in the Ministry,” Luna says. “They’re not going to know what to do with all this gold.”

 

“Well, I’m not changing it now,” Harry says. “They’re my employees, and I want them comfortable.”

 

Luna hums.

 

“Lavender will be able to afford Wolfsbane, now,” she says. “It’s forty galleons a dose, you know.”

 

Harry grits his teeth.

 

“Well, that’s good,” he says. “Lupin always said transformations were painful without it.”

 

“I can’t even begin to imagine,” Luna agrees, glancing back at the books. “How much do you want to tack on to everybody’s first paycheck as a ‘sorry I forgot to pay you’ present?”

 

“... Let’s make it three hundred, across the board,” Harry says. “No— four hundred. Will that suit?”

 

“Well, you certainly have the money for it,” Luna says. “Do you know that you’re the richest man in Europe right now?”

 

“Am I?”

 

She nods.

 

“Thanks to the combined inheritance of the Black and Potter fortunes, plus the reparations the Ministry gave for all that libel business back in ‘94 and ‘95 and the reward money for the Dark Lord’s head… plus it seems a few Light family heads left you money out of gratefulness for defeating him the first time.” Luna looks up. “You could afford to keep the theater running for a century and never taking a penny.”

 

“Well, that’s nice, but I’m not doing that,” Harry says. “People are going to have to buy tickets, just like the Muggles do it.”

 

Luna hums.

 

“I was wondering about that— you know the theater only seats about one hundred people at a time, correct?”

 

“Yeah, I noticed that.”

 

“Save for the concert halls, I think we should keep it that way,” she says. “For all the theaters. At least for now, it’ll stop people from getting bored with whatever show happens to be playing at the time.”

 

“That’s true,” Harry says. “How are we going to get people to come, anyway?”

 

“Well, the families of the people involved will be a given,” Luna says. “Friends are also likely. Perhaps we can advertise? The _ Quibbler  _ wouldn’t mind the extra income.”

 

“Neither would the _ Prophet, _ I’m sure,” he adds, snorting. “Are there any others that might let us advertise?”

 

Luna hums.

 

“I’ll see if I can make a few calls,” she says. “Considering how handsome the talent is, I think we could manage a spread in _ Witch Weekly,  _ actually. And business-wise, we might be able to get an article in _ Wizard’s Gold,  _ too.”

 

“An economy magazine and a gossip rag, excellent,” Harry says, grinning. “Let’s spread it as far as we can manage.”

 

She smiles.

 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


Grimmauld Place was released from the Fidelius Charm not a year after the fall of Voldemort. Still, it’s a surprise when Harry gets a visitor Monday morning, particularly one as wet and loud as Lavender Brown.

 

“Thank you so much, Harry,” she sobs into his chest, blonde hair wild and unwashed as it tickles Harry’s nose. “I won’t let you down, I promise I won’t.”

 

Harry hasn’t seen much of Lavender since they left school, but he’s heard rumors. Not many people have ever like the idea of hiring a werewolf, of renting to one, or selling to one, or even being near one, to be honest. So perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised at her unkempt appearance, the slight odor that makes him want to wrinkle his nose, the stains on her sturdy jeans and the worn, washed-out t-shirt that Harry thinks he remembers from when they were still in school.

 

“Of course you won’t,” he says, squeezing her tightly before letting her go. “I wouldn’t have given you the job otherwise. Besides, Parvati says you’re an excellent seamstress— Madame Malkin’s a fool if she won’t have you.”

 

Lavender flushes a gentle shade of red.

 

“I— you’re not hiring me out of pity, are you?”

 

“Of course not,” Harry says. “This is completely by recommendation. Parvati says you’re the best, and I trust her.” He leans forward slightly, pitching his voice low as if her were sharing a secret. “To be honest, I don’t know much of anything to do with costume anyway, so if it weren’t for Pav telling me about you I’d have no bloody clue what to do at all.”

 

Lavender’s eyes are brimming with tears, he chin wobbling as she tries to keep herself from bursting into loud sobs once more.

 

“You’ve always been a nice guy, Harry,” she says. “I’m sorry if I was ever rude to you—”

 

Harry flaps a hand.

 

“Don’t worry about, Lavender,” he says. “Here— how about you go wash yourself up upstairs? The bathroom’s all fixed up and everything, so you can go have a nice long soak. Then we can have—” he checks his watch. “Lunch, I suppose, and I’ll take you down to the theater to introduce you to everyone. Would you like that?”

 

Lavender nods, sniffling.

 

“Thanks, Harry.”

 

“It’s no problem,” he says firmly. “Go on upstairs— the bathroom’s first one to the left.”

 

Lavender goes, leaving Harry alone in the hall. It’s been a rough few years, he imagines. Thanks to the last war, public opinion of werewolves has been at an all time low. He doesn’t remember ever looking so thin, or so dirty.

 

He’ll have a word with Lavender after her bath about it.


	9. Chapter 9

“So, what do you think?”

 

It’s only been a week since Lavender was hired, but here Harry is, crowded around a table outside of a cafe in Diagon with Luna, Lee, and Lavender herself, peering at a binder full of lovingly sketched costumed designs.

 

“I’m loving the themes, here,” Lee says, fingering a page of background Montague characters. “Kinda… rocker chic, for the Montagues, Hollywood glam for the Capulets.”

 

“I wanted to make it easy for people to differentiate,” Lavender explains. “Shakespeare’s hard for people who haven’t studied it, sometimes.”

 

“Good idea,” Luna murmurs. “Dean will look quite dashing in leather, don’t you think, Harry?”

 

“Seamus won’t be able to keep his hands off him,” Harry agrees. “Who’s playing Tybalt, again? Avery?”

 

“Yeah— this Clark Gable thing’ll do him justice,” Lee says, tapping the sketch in Harry’s hands. “I’ll tell him to get started on the mustache.”

 

“This is all very good work,” Luna says, looking up. “Lavender, has Harry mentioned that we’re to have a photo shoot with _ Witch Weekly  _ in two months?”

 

Lavender shakes her head.

 

“They’re giving us a ten page spread, to help us spread the word about the show,” she says. “We’re getting full cast and crew photos, along with interviews. If it’s possible, could you create something for us all to wear? You’ll be paid in full, of course,” she adds, glancing at Harry.

 

“I— really?”

 

Luna nods.

 

“Image has everything to do with how well our opening night— and every night thereafter— will go,” she says. “We have a handsome cast, thanks to Lee, but style has just as great an impact. No one has seen anything like this before; you’ve blended Muggle and Magical fashions so beautifully I’d say you’ve created something brand new. It’s bound to draw attention.”

 

Harry finds he agrees. He doesn’t know too much about fashion, really— most of his dress clothes have come out of Orion Black’s old wardrobe, and while fashions haven’t changed much since the old Black Lord was alive, it would nice to be dressed like the twenty-something he _ was  _ rather than a socialite mortician.

 

“I— I can do that, yes,” Lavender says after a moment, looking uncertain. “Would I be including you three as well?”

 

“Unfortunately, yes,” Harry says with a grimace. “They desperately want an interview with the  _ Patron  _ of this _ grand venture.” _

 

“Buck up, Harry,” Lee says, patting him bracingly on the back. “At least they’re not asking after the _ Chosen One  _ anymore.”

 

Harry’s grimace deepens, and Luna smiles.

 

“You’ll be taking measurements of everyone tomorrow, as I understand it,” she says. “Harry and I will meet you at the theater— you can squeeze us in once you’ve finished off the cast and Lee.”

 

Lavender smiles, quiet and careful and so, so grateful.

 

“I can manage that, yes,” she says, dipping her head. “Tomorrow, then. We’re starting at nine.”

 

“We’ll be there,” Harry promises.

  
  


*.*

  
  


Harry is on his way to George’s when he sees it in the window of Calliope’s Lovely Things For Proper Ladies. He doesn’t know why it catches his eye, exactly— it’s not particularly notable, the pendant, just a shimmering, multicolored stone held delicately in place by a delicately shaped silver ribcage. It’s not as flashy as some of the other pieces in the window, not by any means, and yet…

 

He’s never set foot in Calliope’s before, not having much need for jewelry or lacy underthings, but the moment he does, a chipper young woman appears behind the counter, blonde hair pulled up into a neat bun.

 

“How can I help you today, sir?” she asks, laying two, pink-nailed hands on the polished wood of the counter.

 

“That pendant, in the window,” Harry says. “The ribcage. I’d like to buy it.”

 

The girl blinks, then smiles wider.

 

“The one in the window?” she asks, already moving to retrieve the piece. “You have quite the eye, Mr. Potter. It is a lovely bit of craftsmanship. The spellwork isn’t something to sniff at, either.”

 

“Spellwork?”

 

The girl nods, setting the pendant on delicately on a cushion retrieved from under the counter.

 

“The stone has an Ever-Change enchantment on it,” she explains. “When worn, it’ll change color to reflect the truth of the wearer’s heart— a bit like a Muggle mood ring, though substantially more sophisticated.”

 

“What do the colors mean, exactly?” Harry asks.

 

“It varies from person to person,” she says, shrugging. “Part of the enchantment. It’s a one of a kind.”

 

Harry looks down at the pendant thoughtfully. He’s never been one for jewelry or any kind, though he has been considering earrings, recently. He’s certain he’ll never wear it, but… but he feels like he ought to buy it.

 

“I’ll take it,” he says.

 

“Excellent,” the witch says. “Would you like a bag, or will you wear it out?”

 

“Ah— a bag, please.”

 

She hustles to find a small, silk sack, carefully settling the pendant inside before tying off the top.

 

“That’ll be fifteen galleons, nine sickles, please.”

 

Harry hands over the money, and puts the sack in the inner pocket of his waistcoat.

 

He’ll figure out what to do with it later.

  
  


*.*

  
  


“George, how are you?”

 

“Fine, fine— here, have a look. I’ve been fiddling with that camera you brought me. It’s proving to be… interesting.”

 

The camera is grotesquely old, one of the earliest models Harry could manage to purchase. In the Wizarding World, he’d noticed, older Muggle appliances generally seemed to work better. They were sturdier in the face of magic, built with heavier, manageable parts that could be repaired or replaced as needed with minimal difficulty, unlike more modern variations. The only problem, really, was the electricity.

 

George has set up the camera in the spare room of his flat, pinning up a plain white sheet opposite the lens.

 

“So, electricity’s not needed for this particular model, thanks to magic,” he says without preamble. “I’ve pulled out all the wiring and put a fairy light in place of a bulb, which seems to be working pretty well, except…”

 

He flicks his wand at the camera. Harry watches the film flicker to life on George’s makeshift screen. It’s Chaplin, Harry’s pretty sure, except he doesn’t recall Chaplin ever having a film where he was so interested in what was going on offscreen.

 

Brow furrowing, Harry waves. Chaplin grins and waves back.

 

“The magic is affecting the film,” Harry says, looking at George. “They’re like portraits, now.”

 

“That’s about the size of it, yeah,” the redhead says. “Now, I’ve done a bit of experimenting, and so long as proper movie protocol is followed— it’s dark, and there’s no talking— they’ll play out the plot without much trouble. But, if someone were to be rude during the show, for instance…”

 

“Everything comes to a grinding halt.” Harry sighs. “Well, it’s a start, and I’m sure we can find a way to work around it.”

 

“I’m sure,” George agrees. “Thanks, very much, Charlie. Always a pleasure to work with you.”

 

Chaplin’s mouth moves. A moment later, the screen goes black, save for a cheerful white script that reads “ _ THE PLEASURE’S ALL MINE, GEORGIE.” _

 

George’s mouth quirks up into a half-smile as he powers down the camera once more.

 

“I was wondering if it’d be possible to move this particular project to the cinema building,” George says, turning to Harry. “I was thinking I might be able to spell the house seats so that the performers don’t get too distracted by any excess.”

 

“Of course,” Harry says. “We’ll have to fix up the place first, though.”

 

“Leave that to me,” George says. “I’ve been looking into Muggle cinema, so I’ve got a pretty good idea as to what I’ll need done.”

 

Harry frowns.

 

“Don’t let this cut into your time at the shop, George,” he says. “I don’t want to take you away from your work. This isn’t a necessity, a cinema. Not for a while.”

 

George bites his lip.

 

“It’s not,” he says. “It’s been… a welcome distraction, really. I haven’t been feeling… this is the first project that’s gone my way in _ years.  _ I haven’t had one good invention since…”

 

He trails off, but Harry would be an idiot not to know what he’s talking about. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it— and he won’t not aloud— but it’s true. None of the more recent WWW products have done nearly as well as the products made before the war, and it was clear that the shop is suffering for it. Even with Ron’s help, it wasn’t the same as before Fred died, and how could it be?

 

“Well, if that’s how you feel,” Harry starts. “I’m going to have you added to the employee roster as a freelance contractor. I won’t have you working on this without being paid, at least.”

 

“Aw, Harry, you don’t have to—”

 

“I want to,” Harry says firmly. “You’re my friend, George, and bloody _ brilliant  _ for getting this to work. It’s only fair.”

 

George sighs, running a hand through his shaggy hair.

 

“If you’re sure...” he starts.

 

“I am.”


End file.
